


Gently Down The Stream

by biichan



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-07
Updated: 2005-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biichan/pseuds/biichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Krum go messing around in boats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gently Down The Stream

"Tira lira by the river," Hermione murmured, closing her eyes against the brightness of the sun that shone down on them as they floated downstream. Viktor laughed at that and his warm, rich chuckle seemed to linger in the summer air.

"But Her-my-oh-knee," he murmured, pronouncing every syllable of her name with the greatest of care. "You are not Sir Lancelot. And I do not think we are drifting toward Camelot." His thick, stubby fingers and strong, weathered hands caressed Hermione through her thin blouse and she could feel Viktor smiling at her, as sure as she could feel the sun.

"Maybe we're drifting toward death," she whispered, opening her eyes to gaze upward at Viktor's friendly face, at his broken nose and pleasantly square features and the heavy brows that always made her think of caterpillars, waiting to turn into butterflies. She reached upward, let her hand slide down Viktor's broad bare back and she smiled then at the slick feel of sweat in the hollows. So warm, she thought—it was all so very warm.

Another rich laugh and Hermione laughed too to hear it. "Only the very small kind, I think," Viktor breathed, before pressing a soft, sucking kiss to the hollow of her throat and she laughed, again, as he began to trick the small round buttons out from her shirt. She had her knickers 'round her ankles and Viktor's trousers were opened. She did not think it would be long before he took her again.

He kissed the tops of each breast and she purred at the touch of his lips upon her skin. He unhooked her bra, pushing it from her shoulders with her blouse and she ran her hands down his back anxiously, pulling him closer. He took the nipple of one small round breast into his mouth, sucking firmly, while his fingers played with the other and she moaned then at the _ache_ between her legs.

"Please," she whispered against his close-cropped hair. "Viktor, _please_."

He only laughed. "Soon, Her-my-oh-knee. Soon."

The hand that had been on her breast was tracing itself down her stomach and thigh, had slipped itself up under her skirt and paused itself momentarily to twist its fingers in the curly hair, no less wild than the hair on her head. "So beautiful," Viktor murmured against her skin and Hermione could feel her entire body flush with pleasure, from the compliment and the feel of his hand, resting heavily upon her. She pressed herself against that hand and Viktor laughed again, tracing a light finger along the rim of her opening. "Do you want this there?" he whispered, his breath heavy in her ear. "Or do you want more?"

Hermione gave an impatient growl. "_More_," she demanded, her voice made harsh with desire and Viktor laughed at that too and brushed his lips against her forehead fondly, before slipping his hand out from under her skirt and pushing it upward, revealing her hidden flesh to him.

"Now," he agreed, his own trousers low upon his legs and he slid into her then, groaning softly as he felt the slickness within, as warm and as wet as she had been during their earlier sport. She growled softly in assent, hooking her legs around him and pulling him close, sighing as he entered her, at the first long, luxurious stroke.

"Mine," she whispered softly, her voice breaking midway through the word with a soft, strangled cry. This is mine, she meant, and you are mine. I have given you my greatest treasure and you have given this pleasure back to me and I own it, Viktor; it is mine. Here in your homeland, in this boat drifting merrily down the stream, it is mine.

"Yours," he agreed, understanding without words. "Her-my-oh-knee, it is yours." She nodded her assent, her throat tight with unspoken words and then she arched her back and cried out, her eyes squeezed tight against the blinding light of the sun, the sun that shone all around them, painting the afternoon with warm golden light.

Light and it was all around them, enveloping them and warming them; it was inside him, white and gold together, the colours of the Crown, blinding him as he poured himself into her, Hermione, the abrasive little bookish girl who had captured his heart and soul together, who'd let him make her body his own. Hermione. His own, as much as he was hers. Hermione. His.

"Mine," he murmured, wrapping his body around hers, listening with open ears to the water splashing against the sides of their boat. "Mine."

She laughed softly at him, brushing her lips against his, and traced a light finger along his cheekbone. "Ours," she said, smiling at him and he smiled back, to see the love dancing in her warm brown eyes.

"Ours," he agreed, pressing his lips against hers and then neither of them said anything more.

_ Ever drifting down the stream -  
Lingering in a golden gleam -  
Life, what is it but a dream?_  
~Lewis Carroll


End file.
